Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness

by Deb Marlowe

  “Ah, that helps me place your accent. I suspected that you were an American.”

  She flushed. “And proud to be so, sir.”

  “Yes, you all do seem to feel that way.”

  Her chin lifted. “As you are an Englishman, I will defer to your expertise in the area of pride.”

  A direct hit. He began to warm to the game, despite himself. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand your connection to the lovely Miss Carmichael.”

  She stiffened. “The connection of friendship,” she said curtly.

  “Ah. A friendship of long standing, it must surely be.”

  He awaited her answer, sure he’d caught her—and feeling alive and . . . stimulated. It had been a long while since he’d exchanged barbs with a skilled opponent—and longer still since he’d faced one so appealing.

  Her lips pursed and he caught the deepening flush moving across her cheeks.

  He let his eyes go wide. “Well, if I had needed a final clue to your heritage, that would have provided it. You’ve pushed yourself in where you’ve no business, haven’t you?”

  “My heritage is nearly the equal of yours, sir,” she said, indignant. “My grandfather is Viscount Harley.”

  “How nice for you—and how do you think he would feel about your actions here today?”

  “My actions? I’ve done nothing here save visit a friend—and make your acquaintance, sir.” She tossed her head. “Something tells me that he might object to the latter.”

  He bit back a laugh. “Tell me, are you a single lady? Unattached? Not promised to another?”

  She nodded.

  “Then I doubt he would object.” He frowned at her. “Something tells me that you’ve led that poor girl to hope for more than she will receive.”

  “I don’t believe it is for you to decide what Felicity gets or does not, sir. And if I had any doubt as to whether you were an English snob, that remark would have decided it.”

  “Then we’d be on an even standing, wouldn’t we?”

  She shook her head, dismissing him. “As Mr. Gardiner appears taken with her charms, perhaps he will also see the benefit of linking his name to her old and respected family.”

  “Ah. Quick enough to switch from American egalitarian to English snobbery when it suits you, are you not? And in any case, Peter is no mere mister. He’s my heir—and I’m deuced fond of him.”

  “All very nice for him, I’m sure, but if Mr. Gardiner has half the intellect I suspect he does, then he will not have wasted a moment’s thought on the expectations of being your heir.”

  “Meaning?” He knew damned well what she meant, but he was vain enough—and curious enough—to wish to hear what she would say.

  She didn’t back down, bless her. She straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye.

  “Meaning that if you are not currently married, then you certainly soon should be.”

  He took a step closer. “Is this a roundabout way of asking if I’m a married man, Miss Baylis?” He leaned in. “I’m not.”

  She examined him with an appraising eye that set his blood to boiling. “It is but a statement of fact, my lord. Look at you. Tall, titled and full of your own consequence. Surely you are squarely in the sights of every unmarried debutante of the ton. And with a fine specimen like you, it could only be that a son and heir, likely a whole strapping brood of a family, will quickly follow.”

  He stared. “Specimen? I’ve been called many things over the years, but that’s a first.”

  She bit her lip, clearly a bit stricken. But only a bit. “Oh, dear. That was over the line, wasn’t it? I must offer my apologies, I suppose.”

  He refused to let her off the hook. He’d rather watch her wiggle a bit. “And speculation on my virility too? American society must be a good bit more free than ours.”

  She shook her head. “Not really. I am sorry. My mother has been spending time amongst your scholarly set, collectors and the like. I fear I let it go to my head.”

  He liked that she owned up to her mistake, but it seemed he’d rattled her more than she let on.

  “In any case,” she blundered on, “you should know that other gentlemen are enamored of Miss Carmichael’s qualities and assets. It should be no surprise that Mr. Gardiner is as well.”

  Now there was her first real tactical mistake. “Other gentlemen?” he asked sharply.

  She bit her lip. Her pink, plump, soft-looking lip.

  “What other gentlemen are those?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He pressed the advantage. “Is she already betrothed?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “But she’s entangled, somehow,” he said with conviction. And saw the truth of it in her expression. “This grows worse by the moment. I think it’s time we brought this to a close.”

  “Just look at them,” she pleaded.

  He did, watching Peter closely. He and Miss Carmichael were cooing like love birds and practically glowing in delight with each other’s company.

  He looked back at Miss Baylis. Liberty. A ridiculous name for a dangerous girl. He kept looking—at her speaking green eyes, her pert nose and thick chestnut hair, at her curves all properly constrained by bone and silk and thread—and at the naked hope, expectation and anticipation improperly on view for the world to see.

  And his sense of exhilaration slid away. He knew he’d been right at the first. There was nothing on either side of this red door but trouble.

  “How can you think to separate them?” she asked softly.

  Brodham hardened his heart. “Easily,” he answered. “And I shall tell you why—because I’ve seen this before. Countless times. It starts with hopeful beginnings, vapid expressions, poetry and heartfelt pledges. But it ends somewhere entirely different. With disappointment and disillusionment for some. With worse things for others—betrayal and blackmail, perhaps. But it always leads to a mess, Miss Baylis. For a long time I had to be very good at cleaning up those messes, but eventually I grew wiser. I learned to be very good at preventing them.”

  She searched his face. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “It’s far from the saddest thing I’ve heard, I assure you. I do care for Peter. I watch out for him, as he hasn’t anyone else. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep anyone from getting hurt.”

  Like taking on the old, dreaded role again. Or watching disappointment and anger bloom in a pretty girl and worthy opponent’s gaze.

  “Come, Peter,” he called. “You should bid Miss Carmichael good-bye. It’s time we were going.”

  He bowed, then leaned in close to speak low, for her ear alone. “You’ve spirit, Miss Baylis, and no doubt would have offered up a good fight. But I’m afraid this time I’m calling a halt to the war before the first battle is engaged.”

  She dipped into a curtsy and came up smiling sweetly.

  He nodded and turned to go.

  She called after him. “Don’t tuck your guns away just yet, my lord.”

  Chapter Three

  Liberty’s emotions were still running high a couple of hours later as she arrived at Miss Jane Tillney’s stoop. Unfortunately, she arrived at the same moment that her friend emerged from the house.

  “Oh, Jane.” She allowed her disappointment to show. “I was hoping to find you at home.”

  “I am sorry, Liberty, dear. I’ve errands that must be done.” Jane met her on the pavement and gave her a quick hug. “But would you care to accompany me? I must stop at the linen draper’s and then I’m off to Half Moon House, but we could speak on the way. If you don’t mind the walk, that is? I’ve asked for the coach to meet me in a bit, but I thought I’d walk the first stretch.”

  “Not at all, thank you.” Liberty smiled with relief. “I’ve something I wish to discuss with you and walking will ensure our privacy.”

  “Now that does sound promising.” Jane returned her smile.

  It was perfect weather for a walk, with the sun shining a
nd a soft breeze from the river, but Liberty barely noticed. She poured out the story of Felicity and the adverts and told all regarding Mr. Gardiner and Lord Brodham while they made their way to Pall Mall and Jane’s maid trailed discreetly behind.

  “How kind you were to offer to help her,” Jane said as they entered Harding and Howell’s. “I did see one of the notices when some of our own maids were all atwitter over them, but I never would have thought to track her down.”

  “I wouldn’t have been able to, without our servant’s help. It was pure luck that the kitchen boy knew of the red door.”

  “Yes, but you saw your chance and you took it. Not everyone would have done so.”

  “It didn’t matter in the end, did it?” Liberty sighed. “But I mean to help her, Jane! I can’t let Lord Brodham win—he’ll block their way just because he doesn’t believe in happiness! There must be something I can do.”

  “I have thoughts . . .” Jane paused as they were met with enthusiasm by the shop keeper. “Let me mull it over a moment while I place the order?”

  “Of course! I’m sorry to go on.” Liberty listened as Jane asked the man to bring out the black fabric her mother ordered for all their maids’ uniforms. “You’re not ordering fabric for your bride clothes?”

  Jane laughed. “No. My mother is handling that. She’s disappointed once again, because I’m more interested in uniforms than the gown for my engagement ball.”

  “Maid’s uniforms?”

  “Yes. Mother balked at allowing me to make the engagement ball a full blown subscription ball, with all the proceeds to go to Half Moon House.” She sighed. “But I have convinced her to let us set out a bowl for donations—and we are hiring the extra kitchen staff and some maids to attend the ladies retiring rooms from the girls trained there.” She smiled as the linen draper returned. “Yes, I’ll have six yards of that,” she told him. “And do you still have that lace we chose for apron trimmings?”

  Liberty leaned in to speak lower as the man moved off again. “I forgot I was to ask you about your work at Half Moon House. I promised my mother. She wants me to be occupied, but worried that your work there might not be . . .”

  “Respectable?” Jane grinned. “Well, it isn’t. Not truly. But my papa is a peer and a powerful Whig. My mother is one of the dragons that guard the portals to London Society. Let someone raise a fuss over my work there—they’ll find themselves changing their tune soon enough.”

  Liberty raised her brows. “Why isn’t it respectable?”

  “Ah, I forget that you are American and not familiar with the old gossip that the rest of us take for granted. It’s Hestia Wright, to begin with. She’s the founder and sole director of the place. There are stories whispered about her from one end of England to the other end of the Continent. She was a proper young lady, it’s said, until she was ruined by a wicked man and forced into a . . . sordid life.”

  “A woman of the demi-mondaine?” Liberty breathed. “It’s no wonder your mother objects.”

  “Oh, Hestia was never a mere mistress—she turned herself into the greatest courtesan since their celebrated Venetian days. Her beauty, wit, intelligence and charm were legendary. She dallied with kings and princes, it’s rumored. With ministers and diplomats and influential men across Europe. She became obscenely wealthy, made many powerful friends—and then suddenly left it all and came back to England to open Half Moon House—a place where any woman in need of help can come and find solace.”

  Liberty thought a moment. “Any woman?” She began to grasp what was behind society’s objections.

  “Any woman,” Jane repeated firmly. “There are all sorts at Half Moon House—from high to low.”

  “How brave you are to flout the gossips and go where you must certainly be a help.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way,” Jane said with a grin. “I had a feeling about you—and after today’s story I know I was right.” She nodded at the linen draper as he bundled her order and crossed to the counter to settle the account. She also sent her maid out to watch for her father’s carriage before turning back to Liberty. “Ride along with me? I have ideas on how we can help Miss Carmichael.”

  Liberty’s shoulders slumped. “I’ll come, but I’m afraid there’s little we can do. Felicity says Lord Brodham is determined to drag Mr. Gardiner to the country.”

  “Just a moment—and I’ll speak to that.” Jane arranged for delivery of the fabric and they exited to find the coach just arriving. Soon enough they were settled inside and on their way to Craven Street.

  “Now. First—Mr. Gardiner. I can help there. He’s a distant cousin. Mother carefully kept that connection open.”

  Liberty couldn’t hide her dismay. “Your mother—she won’t be upset—”

  Jane laughed. “Don’t look like that. She never meant to throw me at his head. He’s too far down the social ladder to have satisfied her ambitions. No, she wanted him for his connection—to Lord Brodham. Now that one is everything she ever wanted in a son-in-law.”

  This time Liberty carefully concealed her sinking reaction—and firmly squashed it too. It was ridiculous for her to feel anything but determination and rivalry at the mention of the viscount.

  “If I hadn’t fond Worthe, I don’t doubt Mother would still be chasing Brodham for me. In any case, Lord Brodham is rarely in England but is usually at Mr. Gardiner’s side when he is. Peter lost his father early and Lord Brodham has been protective of him.”

  “So I noticed.” Liberty rolled her eyes.

  “We can use that connection now. I’ll write to Peter and tell him I expect his familial support—and a dance—at my engagement ball. That will keep them both in Town at least for a few days. We need only make sure that your Miss Carmichael is there too . . .”

  “Oh, Jane! Brilliant!”

  “Well, perhaps not quite.” Jane laughed. “You say the girl has an aunt in Society?”

  “Yes. Lady Ridgley. Very tonnish, I believe?”

  “Oh, ho! Indeed! She’s my mother’s fiercest rival, which guarantees her invitation has already been sent and accepted.” She paused. “Wait—then is Miss Carmichael the pretty little blonde who’s been accompanying Lady Charlotte about?”

  “Yes. She’s been instructed to keep herself in the background,” Liberty answered sourly. “It appears her family wishes her to see the world, but not partake of it.”

  “Oh, dear. How very dull.” Jane raised a shrewd brow. “They have a match in the wings, then?”

  Liberty nodded. “To a neighbor in Cumberland. There’s talk of acreage changing hands, but it sounds as if her mother wishes to keep her close and under her thumb.”

  “A dull fate, indeed! But of course we must help her.” The corner of Jane’s mouth turned up. “With you also at the ball, we’ll have all the tools at hand.”

  Liberty’s spirits were rising again and her thoughts whirling. “Thank you so very much. I know we can help them both.”

  The carriage slowed and Jane looked out. “We will indeed. Now,” she watched Liberty expectantly. “Will you come in with me to Half Moon House? I must take measurements on the girls who will need uniforms.” She raised a brow. “I’ll understand completely if you wish to continue on home.”

  Liberty gaped. “Are you daft? I’ve been hoping you’d ask!”

  “Good. Hestia is just home from a trip. I’ll introduce you.”

  Liberty stared out. The building looked ordinary enough, but the door boasted a fan set with a crystal half-moon and stars. A haven, where any woman could go for help. She’d joked with her mother about American spirit, but she was glad indeed to know that English gumption had created such a place.

  “I cannot wait.”

  Chapter Four

  Brodham lurked alongside a pillar, playing least-in-sight after passing through the receiving line at the Tillney engagement ball. Gaiety rained down from the gallery above and before him the throng rang with chatter and laughter—but he was feeling older than his years
again. A bit tired. Perhaps a little empty.

  Likely it was just because his plans had been thwarted. Peter had been obliged to attend tonight, he’d assured him, which meant their trip to Cateswood, Brodham’s primary estate, had been delayed. Brodham had been looking forward to the country, to the change in scenery, to the challenge of something new, something lasting and concrete. Land management was a far cry from anything he’d got up to in the diplomatic service. But a glittering, crowded ball? He’d attended hundreds, if not more—and this one didn’t hold the added stimulus of an agenda to forward, an alliance to seal or a plot to thwart.

  His experienced eye wandered over the crowd, seeing nothing more dangerous than various match-making mamas watching their daughters with zeal and the bachelors with interest. Abruptly, he stopped, his skin prickling with awareness. He took an involuntary step forward.

  Wrong. Oh, he’d been so wrong.

  There was a plot afoot. Here. Tonight. He stared at the perpetrator as dueling bits of him flared with fury and excitement.

  Liberty Baylis. Standing bold as brass across the ballroom, her curves displayed in a rich blue gown shot with silver and brightened by silver and white embroidery at the bodice and hem. At ease, she laughed and talked with Miss Jane Tillney. Miss Tillney, whose engagement they celebrated tonight. Miss Tillney, who’d written to remind Peter of his familial duty and her expectation of his support.

  His gaze darted about. Peter had slipped away after they arrived. He stood now at the edge of Miss Baylis’s group, sharing in the conversation, but his gaze was fixed off to the right. Brodham followed it—and spied Miss Carmichael taking a shawl from her companion as the other girl took the arm of her new partner.

  Damned if the chit hadn’t outmaneuvered him.

  Between them, the dance ended and the tableau shifted. Miss Tillney’s hand was claimed as the next set formed. Other couples paired up. Peter edged closer to where Miss Carmichael waited. And Miss Baylis, left briefly alone, moved off. Brodham edged back again. She hadn’t yet seen him and he wanted to keep it that way—wanted to watch the easy grace with which she moved and the smile she dispensed so freely.